


Bruises, Battle Scars and Redemption

by knightsmagi



Category: FFXIV, Heaven's Ward
Genre: Abuse, Drinking, Dubious Consent, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other, Sexual Situations, Slow Burn, Smoking, Tempering, Temporary Character Death, Verbal Aggression, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:27:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21567634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightsmagi/pseuds/knightsmagi
Summary: Told from Grinnaux's point of view, from meeting Paulecrain, to his time before joining the Ward, through their time within it's ranks, and into a new life... A slow burn through their lives, marked for adult themes in later chapters.Note: If you haven't done the Heavensward content in FFXIV, don't read this. It -WILL- have spoilers in it. This is my first attempt at a fanfic, don't roast me too horribly yeah?
Relationships: Grinnaux de Dzemael/Paulecrain de Fanouilley, Multiple Pairings - Relationship
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	1. First Meetings

_“You aren’t going down to that filthy hole again, are you?”_

The Count De Dzemael’s words fell upon deaf ears as the large, armored marauder made his way out the door, letting it slam behind him. He was sick of being the family’s hound. Sick of the Count, sick of being left to clean up his bloodline’s messes because _‘no one would suspect’_ what was really going on behind closed doors, especially if the wild card of the house who the Count was constantly bribing the other houses about, was the one who slay those who had walked the wrong side of the Count’s mood.  
  
It was a short trip, from one aetheryte to another, and soon he found himself back in the tavern, the Forgotten Knight, more a home than the manor was most days. He was deep in his cups by the time the snowy hair nearby caught his eye, and by then the man was spitting barbs his direction. It was the kind of banter one would expect from drunken soldiers, insults spat back and forth over tankards of ale. The nobleman knight leaned against the counter, his words beginning to slur, but not nearly as much as the fellow across from him, with hazy honey golden gaze and snowy hair. Wasn’t he the one Fortemps had kicked out?  
  
He wasn’t certain when the hand fell upon his shoulder from behind, wasn’t aware of the first swing, but swiving hells was he aware of what came after! The low, guttural laughter echoed free of the marauder as he swung at another knight, and another, those he had been paired in missions past who had a fight to pick with him, whose ever loving arses he had handed back to their owners before, but this time they’d thought to group together, and soon the entire bar was a mass of quarreling men at arms, the serving girls hiding behind the bar.  
  
Something hit his back, or rather, someone, and he found himself back to back with the man he had been half-bantering with before. Drunken, sure, but facing armed attackers behind him. When had they gone for weapons? The man back to back with him was wielding a lance, and well, he noted. Shrugging, he returned his attention to those before him.  
  
The rest of the fight was a bit of a blur, if he were to be truthful when asked later on. Liquor did that to a man. Only vaguely did he remember grabbing the wrist of the drunken lancer who had aided him, dragging him through the side-streets back to Dzemael manor, before shutting the gates behind them with a low guffaw.  
  
Morning would find the lancer sprawled across the couch in Grinnaux’s own chambers, with the nobleman slouched in a nearby chair, both snoring loud enough one might wonder if a Dravinian had been set loose in the manor. The Count would be furious, but upon reflection after awakening, the warrior found he didn’t give a swiving damn.

  
  
  
  
  
“The good Lord gave you an _order_ Ser.”   
  
The dragoon’s quiet hiss was a warning that would have done the man in question some form of good, if Grinnaux hadn’t already been swinging, armored fist connecting with jaw hard enough to elicit a cracking sound, echoing despite the chill of the nearby wind, surrounding their campsite. A dull, near lifeless sounding thud was soon to follow. The rest of the house knights stepped back as the paladin in training fell like a sack of popatos at Grinnaux’s feet.  
  
The young Dzemael Lord looked up, fire in his eyes, and growled out in that thick, deep rumble of his. “The next person to question my authority on this little venture will taste my steel instead of my fist. Now get MOVING!”  
  
Camp was broken quickly, as they had a long road to travel to check all of the farthest outposts for further signs of Dravinian and Heretical activity. When one of the younger knights asked about the unconscious paladin, he was told to keep on with his task by another. Meanwhile, Grinnaux looked down at the unconscious man, whose jaw was clearly broken, before looking over to his ward. “Lash him to his chocobo and send the bird home. We’ve no time for insubordinate fools out here in the snow.”  
  
Paulecrain nodded once, not the least bit unnerved by the actions of the Lordling Knight who had taken him in after he had been set out on his ear. He was grateful for the place to earn his keep once more, and working with Grinnaux had proved far more amusing at times than it had ever served with the Fortemps line.  
  
The rest of their patrol went fairly well, a few slain dragons, and much to the squeamishness of the younger knights in tow, a few heretics laid low by way of axe and lance. After the last battle of the evening, and having moved a safe distance away from the fallen corpses, Grinnaux and his ward sat outside the tents set up by the other knights under his command. A drink and tale shared between, they spoke of the Brume, where Grinnaux hand found him, where he had come from, and his craft. He had proven himself exceptionally well that day, and despite their misgivings about their Lord, not one of the gathered knights could speak ill of the man that landed so many a blow against their flying foes.  
  
“I’ve little doubt now, after your service, the Count _will_ make you a knight of our house. Then you can accompany me on every mission. I’d rather a man who has my back without second guessing my every decision.” There was a low, amused rumble that slipped free of the warrior, paused and a brow quirked when the dragoon replied.  
  
“Second guessing? Pah. If I ‘ave a problem with somethin’ you do you’ll know.” Paulecrain let out a low laugh, golden eyes sparkling with amusement at him. The day they’d met hadn’t been their only bout, verbal or otherwise, and though it surprised him, the dragoon was growing on him. He was a man of skill, and sass, knew when to backtalk, and when to hold his tongue.  
  
“Suppose you will let it show, at that, won’t you.” Grinnaux snorted, shaking his head. After a few moments of watching the sky, he sighed, and in a quieter voice spoke. “There’s a storm coming.. Best get some rest for the trip home come the morning.” Way to avoid talking about what rested heavy on his mind now, hmm? But thankfully, the lancer was through giving backtalk for the evening, they both knew it would be better to be safe inside the tent by the time the snows hit.  
  
A few moments later had the camp cold, save for the coals inside each of the tents, keeping the warmth under heavy flaps, the men within attempting to rest, save one or two sitting up for ‘watch’ from within. It would be a long night, but they always were, out here in the chill, and the dark.  
  
It was well after Paulecrain had fallen asleep that Grinnaux was watching him, laying there across the tent on his side, furs and hide piled up around the man. Soft violet eyes, half lidded, considered the sleeping form of the man Fortemps had, in his mind, thrown away. He had potential.. So much potential. He was loyal, willing to follow orders without question.. A good knight.. Yes. He would have to have a word with the count.  
  
What had started as a drunken whim held promise to be _so much more_.

* * *

Author's Note: Yes I know it's a bit short, but I hope you enjoyed it so far!

* * *


	2. Finding one's place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are arguments made, and hints dropped... and a pair of men growing closer as friends.

The house was practically shaking with the ‘conversation’ over dinner. Both servants and knights alike were staying out of the way of the errant bull and his uncle, shutting doors and standing clear, rumbling words barely audible, thankfully, past the thick manor walls. Within the room was another story entirely, finding the warrior pacing by the window as his uncle rested calmly, or as calmly as one might imagine after such a shouting match, leaning back in the high arching chair, watching his nephew with a mixture of annoyance, bemusement, and contempt.    
  
“I have done all you have asked and more.  _ YOU  _ are the one who suggested I find myself a manservant of my own choosing, since all you could find were  _ frightened knaves _ , did you not?” Grinnaux had spun on heel to stare down the count with flashing violet eyes. His temper broiling, and only his courtly manners saving him from doing something  _ far worse _ . “ _ Every man, beast and Dravian _ you have ordered,  _ I have slain _ , for Country and for Home. I have even  _ endeavored _ to control my temper, and done all you have asked, down to tracking down our own blood and laying them to an early grave. The least you can do in return, is let me choose my assistant. Make him a knight!”   
  
The Count listened to this rant as he had every other. Each time the young man before him lost his temper, it meant another cover-up, another excuse, and as loathe as he was to admit it, this brume-rat that Fortemps had thrown out had proved himself trustworthy, and better, kept his nephew out of trouble. Indeed, another order given, another task completed, another body disposed of, all for the sake of keeping the snowy haired man around? “Very well. Tomorrow.. Send him to me. He will be awarded the title and trappings, but he is still under your direct command.. And your responsibility. If he swives up? It falls upon you. Do you understand me?”   
  
Normally the thinly veiled threat would have brought a tenseness to the warrior’s shoulders, born of punishments before, but this time, he was far too relieved. “Thank you, Uncle.” Silently he took pleasure in the confused expression given back at his sincere gratitude, before the warrior turned with a flourish of the cloth tassets of his fauld swirling about his ankles with the speed of the turn.   
  
Finally. He had finally listened, considered, accepted! By the time that the bull had made it back to his own wing of the manor, and the chamber in which the errant dragoon waited for him, he was grinning ear to ear, in a way that had most of the staff staying clear. Pausing in the doorway leading to his rooms, arms crossed over his chest, with that leering grin still written across his features, violet eyes scanned the man before the fire.    
  
Paulecrain was tending his armor, oiling leather and cleaning chain and plate, and for a moment he hadn’t realized his host and employer had returned. Finally a twitch of an ear was given at the sound of shifting full plate, and he glanced up with a lofted brow. “What? Am I amusin ya, yer Lordship?” Wary of the look on the errant bull’s face, he paused in his work.   
  
Grinnaux couldn’t help it, the expression that wrote itself across the snowy haired man’s features was priceless, and it had him barking out a low, heavy laugh, which only added to the lancer’s confusion. “Pfft. You think me just standing around to watch the  _ pretty little ward _ polish his lance? HAH!” It took a few moments to regain his composure, stepping into the room fully and shutting the door behind. “Nay.. you jocular prat. I come bearing an order. You will speak with my uncle tomorrow, promptly after breakfast has ended. In full armor and armament, you will present yourself. Are we at an understanding?”   
  
Paulecrain watched as the larger man strode over, collapsing onto the couch beside him hard enough to rock the large leather covered furnishing. “... Did he agree?” Setting down his lance across his lap, he waited for the answer, honey golden eyes hopeful. Had he proven himself to the Count, despite his history? Had he done well enough to earn rank within the house of Dzemael? When Grinnaux’s grin just widened tauntingly, he swung the lance at him with a huff. “Y’damned braggart TELL ME”   
  
Even seated it was easy enough to dodge the wild swing, which caused the larger man to burst into another rambunctious round of guffaws. “Swiving hells  _ calm down _ , You’re liable to take an eye out swinging that thing around! Yes,  _ YES _ he said yes! You’re to be knighted before the noon bell.”

The words were like music that could barely be heard over his own pounding heart. “Say again?” Paulecrain paused in another swing, collapsing back against the couch. He had really earned back his knighthood, his purpose, once more? What had started with a brawl going sideways, and aiding the unarmed lord had turned into his future livelihood, and he could scarce believe it to be true.

“I know damned well you aren’t deaf. Hear better than I do..” Grinnaux teased, before shaking his head as he too, relaxed, one booted foot propped up on the table between them and the fire. “He will knight you come the morning, on the condition that you remain under my supervision, my direct command. What you do, how you behave, will still fall upon my shoulders. I brought you in, and it will be my duty to take you out if you swive up, and you know what that entails, aye?”

The dragoon winced. He knew full well, He’d helped with a few of those particular assignments now. “Yare.. I know… Swivin hells.. I can’t believe it..” One hand moved up to run through his hair, his eyes sliding closed. “W-Well.. I suppose no drinkin t’celebrate till after, Aye?”   
  
Grinnaux snickered under his breath, reaching out to swat congradulatorilly at the man’s shoulder as he stood, plate creaking with the movement of him walking across the room to the small liquor cabinet there. “Getting all out soused is a bad idea.... A glass or two cannot hurt…”

A few hours later saw the light in the room restricted to the glow from the fireplace, the two men dressed down for the evening, chatting quietly over brandy snifters, and relaxing. _Tomorrow would be a big day for them both._

* * *

Author's Note: I hope you are still enjoying the comradeship. Next one promises to be .. ahem.. interesting. Stay tuned!

* * *


	3. Rolanberries, Wine and Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And thusly, we start the course.. Where it may lead.. Who will say?

It had been nearly three months since the dragoon had been accepted as a knight under the service of the Dzemael household. Grinnaux himself in that time had been approached by the Temple Knights, and called before the Holy See. It was in that meeting that the Archbishop had bestowed an honored title upon him, and one that he had done his damnedest to uphold that title with honor and integrity, though along the line there was still the occasional mishap, which was even yet covered by his uncle, and a few members of the Holy See themselves.

Surprisingly enough it was his uncle that had suggested he speak with the Holy See about Paulecrain joining him in it’s ranks, a thought that had crossed his mind, of course, but to hear him speak it, of the lowborn lancer, was quite something else altogether. It meant that the Count De Dzemael had actually grown fond enough, or placated enough by their ward and knight’s loyalty that he would feel comfortable with him joining Grinnaux as a representative of House Dzemael.    
  
Admittedly, the thought had him distracted, as heated water coursed over his form. The sound of water running could be heard all the way down the hall, as in his rush to clean before the afternoon meal, and his distraction from that morning’s conversation with his kin had left him in a state of distraction unlike any other. If one knight amongst them deserved such an honor, it was Paulecrain, he mused to himself, and swive him to hells if he didn’t enjoy the man’s company. They were fast friends from the get, and the dragoon’s presence had eased Grinnaux’s rather wild temper, if only by a few onzes. 

Slipping out of the tub and onto the soft cushion of the matt before it, he snatched up a towel, wrapping it around his hips, uncaring when it slid a few ilms too low as he leaned forwards in front of the mirror. His uncle had always preferred his kin show the utmost care and grace in their appearance. For one of the oldest and largest Houses in Ishgard, he had every right to the pomp and circumstance, moreso now that Grinnaux held the rank that he did in the Highest Order in Ishgard. 

Violet eyes scanned each and every scar that littered his torso. A hundred fights, a thousand stories, built up along each and every bunch of sinew, muscle and flesh. A warrior, a protector, he imagined others of his fellows were not far from looking like this. It was his duty, after all, to take blows others could not, and return in kind with near unparalleled strength. A heavy sigh slid free of his lips as he shifted, leaning hips against the counter as arms raised to pull his still dripping hair back into it’s normal high and tight ponytail, his bangs dropping free of it as they always did.   
  
Paulecrain stepped into his employer’s room, on his way to grab something for the Count when he found himself stopped dead in his tracks. It was a common thing, he realized, for the bull to forget to close the door, in his rush, and serving the family in the capacity he did, he had often seen the man between armor and clothing. Today, however, the way the cooling waters trailed down a broad , scarred back, following the lines of flesh, caught his attention and made his eyes wander over what he could only describe in his head as the body of a god.    
  
The lowborn had never been particularly picky when it came to gender, so the offered view, stolen as it was, was difficult to ignore, even, perhaps, near trance inducing as his gaze shifted from the curve of his shoulder blades, along sinew and tendon, to where it dipped in, and began to round out to a firm, tight bottom, barely hidden by the towel.    
  
The lordling felt himself being watched, and had, in the time the lancer’s gaze had wandered, caught him staring in the mirror. It wasn’t particularly a new feeling, having happened often in the training fields, or wandering about the city on patrol. He knew, full well, his particular build, and coloration, was not common in the streets of Ishgard, however that wasn’t how the man behind him was staring at him, and he knew it.  _ “Something wrong, Paulecrain?” _ Arms dropped to his sides, leaning back to glance over his shoulder, just barely catching the towel before it fell from it’s precarious wrap.   
  
Hearing his name roll off of his lord’s tongue snapped the lancer out of his trance, honeyed gaze dropping away, only to realize what he had been looking for was resting on the counter nearby Grinnaux. It took a moment for him to respond, giving a slight shake of his head, and attempting to keep both his breathing and his voice steady. “I was jus’ grabbin the cufflinks you borrowed for your uncle. You should...um…” His steps carry him forwards, reaching for the aforementioned adornments, hand barely brushing skin on the way by in his rush. “Should hurry and get dressed Ser.”

It wasn’t as if he was a stranger to being ‘checked out’. There were many a lady who had admired his form, but not many that had dared come close. The soft, accidental brush of hand across still wet, heated skin caused the knight to turn, partially into it, though he meant to step out of the way. Paulecrain’s very tone of voice, the hitch in his breath, and his nervousness seemed to worry the bull, and before the man can pull away, Grinnaux has his wrist caught in a firm grasp, violet gaze meeting golden. “You Alright, my friend? You sound… a bit off. Did my uncle do something?” Released from his grasp as it was, the towel began to slip once more, but thanks to everything he had been blessed with at birth, it doesn’t outright drop. He doesn’t seem to notice at present, too worried, it would seem, that concern caught in the depths of his rumbling baritone.

The gaze the warrior sought to meet dipped to his arm when it was grasped, trying to ignore what more of his employer had become visible past that. Thoughts he knew damned well he shouldn’t be having began to flit through his head, and it took all the strength he could muster to look up, and meet Grinnaux’s eyes, despite the feeling that each and every filthy notion would be seen in his gaze. “I’m fine, Ser. However you should probably get dressed b’fore you catch a cold, or give one o’ the staff a show. You left the door open again.”    
  
“Mmm? Oh… Heh.” He let out a low, and lengthy chuckle before muttering a soft “ _ right… _ ” A step away had him grasping the side of the towel again, releasing his hold on the lancer as he strode for the door, the offending piece of cloth caught in his grasp as he shut the door. “He give you guard duty again?” Calling over his shoulder as he came to stand before the wardrobe, tugging the cloth off to finish drying himself off. 

Once more, the lancer stood transfixed, contemplating the way the soft lighting of the room graced along the curve of that firm posterior, and, when the warrior turned, halfway, to glance back at his friend, it revealed the toned abdomen, leading down with light blonde hair, a sharp contrast to umber skin, dipping down along the higher parts of his pelvis before disappearing behind a toned thigh. He was completely caught off guard when the towel was thrown at him, hitting square in the chest.   
  
“Hang that up, would you?” There was amusement in the bull’s tone as he watched Paulecrain jump, before turning away to try and find something to wear. He hated being out of his armor, out of uniform, especially now that he had achieved such a rank, but his uncle had been insistent that this was a -family- luncheon.. Something about one of his cousins and a potential alliance. He would have to placate him..  _ Yet again _ . 

Flustered at both having been caught staring, and the amused tone in his employer, and friend’s voice, his brows furrowed, and before he thought about the consequences, he had spun the towel by a corner, and lashed it out so it smacked audibly against that well rounded arse, smirking as he then turned, headed for the bathroom and to do as he had been asked, both in hanging the towel and retrieving the cufflinks, though, much to his surprise, he didn’t make it that far.

“HEY!” No, indeed the air was forced from his lungs as he found himself pinned against the door frame by a rather sudden rush from a laughing lordling, seemingly unaware, or uncaring, about his state of dress in the aftermath of the stinging lash. “That’s a right dirty move to hit a man when he isn’t looking!” 

“Yeah, what are ya gonna do about it?” At first Paulecrain couldn’t help but bark out a laugh, raising honeyed gold to meet soft violet. “Ain’t as if you fight fair any’ow.” That sass and self assuredness faulters, however, when he finds himself at a loss of where would be acceptable to push on given his friend’s current state of dress, hands finally falling on the larger man’s shoulders. Glancing ever upward, he huffed out lower. “Though if ya keep up with this I may be late ta m’shift as it is…” It was growing increasingly difficult to ignore the pressure below, with the way he was pinned, though he dare not look down.   
  
_ So he hadn’t imagined it _ . Indeed his companion was eyeing him even now like some prize to be sought… He wasn’t certain whether to be disturbed.. Angry… upset, perhaps? No.. none of these things as he leaned his upper torso back a bit to watch Paulecrain with a lingering curiosity. “So.. what… you want a piece of me?  _ Or perhaps to be pinned to the bed instead _ ?” Forcing out a low laugh, he moved abruptly away, taking his time in picking up the clothes he had half-pulled out. “A fine jest…” Glancing over his shoulder, he flashed the lancer a grin, to show there was nothing to fear, though whether he actually thought him to be joking, or there was a subtle warning there, was unclear.   
  
_ So says the man who pinned me to the wall in naught but what the fury graced him with… _ His sass remained unspoken, though there was a lingering blush on his cheekbones as he went to retrieve the cufflinks, and hang the towel. “You’re attractive, I’ll give you that m’lord, but entirely a class above me.. An’ I know my place.” He managed to keep his eyes off of the warrior for the rest of his time in the room, which was short, before he ducked out the door and headed back downstairs.

Grinnaux blinked, watching the man go.  _ Wait, Was he serious? Oh for Fury’s sake... _ Blinking, he began to dress, quickly. He had wasted enough time, and he knew his uncle would already be welcoming whatever guests he had invited for the late luncheon. Even so, his mind continued to wander, distracted by the though that his new friend, ward, and knight was…  _ well _ … On the one hand, the warrior had taken rather specific vows about family and lovers upon entering the Heaven’s Ward. Much had any of the others who had joined before him, and those who would follow after, most assuredly. On the other, he had a tendency to break a few of the other vows in that list on a near nightly basis, and those vows only  _ specifically  _ mentioned  _ women _ … He knew full well that by the end of his Service, if the Fury yet accepted him, it would be a miracle… but Paulecrain.. He had a chance to go farther.. To be exonerated from all sins in his past, to become a weapon and Guardian of the Church.. To go somewhere with his life.   
  
So why did the thought of making the lad break vows before he had even uttered them, to do things that most would exclaim as un-Halonic to begin with, excite him so? He knew full well it was common for Lord’s to bed their servants, but once more, they were more.. conventional pairings of Lord and Mistress… not.. This… It was a thought that would plague him through-out his Uncle’s luncheon, distracting him from the chatter of who would be a good match for who, and the political bantering and jockeying for more than they already had. He even managed, through his distraction, to escort a potential lady for one of his cousins through the gardens, at his uncle’s behest, speaking to her of all the finer points of his kin, using his station in the Ward to sway her feelings on the kin in question. When his task was completed, she was fawning over the man, and he was excusing himself, with little and less explanation.    
  
_ Why couldn’t he get the lancer off his mind? _

Elsewhere the lancer in question was thankful for the chill of Coerthas, shifting slightly where he was stationed, lance strapped to his back for easy access, though he was currently leaning against it, and the wall, lighting a cigarette as his ears twitched to the sound of the gathering inside the walls, and the manor proper. Such festivities had never concerned him much, in fact he found them rather boring, and idly, his mind wandered back to his employer, knowing the man lacked in patience, and wondering how he managed to put up with it all.   
  
It was peaceful, the clouds parting once in a while for a rare view of the soft blue sky above, sunlight reflecting off of snow. What started as a luncheon turned into a whole bloody day, not that the man minded the quiet. It gave him time to think. Thoughts of Grinnaux however quickly turn to the way it felt to be pinned by the larger man, namely, the feel of that form so snug to his own. Heat rises to his cheeks, and he swallowed dryly, taking a deep inhale from his hand rolled ciggy, his eyes squeezing shut, attempting to force himself to shift his line of thought.

Carrying a small parcel with him, some of the fresh fruit from inside, and thoughts upon the conversation he would have to have with Paulecrain at some point of the do’s and don’ts of the knighthood, and trying not to focus on what had transpired that morning, he laughed lightly when he startled the lancer from his thoughts, posted as he was at the very edge of the statuary garden. “A bit jumpy?” Came the low chuckle, as the Dzemael Lordling came to rest against the wall next to him. A few moments later he was snatching the ciggy from him and taking a puff of it himself, offering the small, makeshift sack to him. “Something sweet? Pretty good. My favorites are the Rolanberries.” His voice was a low, rumbling humm. Between the thoughts that had lingered in his mind all afternoon, and the alcohol his uncle had served for the occasion, his head was swimming.

Paulecrain couldn’t help but roll his eyes as his cigarette was stolen. He had grown accustomed to that since meeting the knight, and as such carried extra tobacco and papers on him. Curious, however, he was distracted from rolling a new one by the package he had been handed. Expensive imports from far away lands, all sweet fruits. He grew curious as to why. It wasn’t something he was accustomed to, as most of the time only the higher houses could afford such imports, and he said as much. “Aren’t these for ‘high houses’ only? Heh…” Despite his misgivings, he popped a small piece of fruit into his mouth, bright yellow coloration surprising him, before the burst of flavor as he chewed on the pineapple hit him. Bitter-sweet, not bad, all things considered. “What happened, get tired of all the ass kissing in there?”

“Nngh..  _ You have no idea. _ ” Grinnaux’s head lolled to one side, letting out a low, if exasperated chuckle, his breath heavy with smoke. Exhaling, violet eyes slid closed. For a moment he seemed to relax there, before muttering under his breath. “Endorse this cousin to that noblewoman’s father, speak of all his good graces… _ so lie _ …heh.”opening one eye, he flashed a grin, before shrugging. “And yeah,  _ So _ ? I know the blasted gruel they feed the guards. Figured you might like something a little different. Just a snack anyway. Besides, if there’s a problem  _ I can always take it back. _ ”

“Sounds bloody  _ boring _ .” He let out a low, hushed laugh, shaking his head. “...Though, lets be honest, you are the face of the house till the heir comes of age.” Picking idly at the fruit, he pops a grape between his lips, letting his shoulders roll and offering forth another low laugh. “Though, aye. Guard duty.. Heh. an’ here I thought I was hired to deal with problems… make people disappear... “ A sideways glance held a sparkle in that gaze, as well as a smirk. “An deal with you.” Plucking a rolanberry off the handkerchief, he pointed it at Grinnaux, though whether to gesticulate with it, or feed it to him, was uncertain.   
  
“ _ Deal with me _ ? And how, precisely, do you  _ plan to do that _ ?” Lofting a brow at the fruit caught between fingertips, he narrowed his gaze. Time to test a theory. Perhaps he was spurred on by the thoughts that had teased him all afternoon, perhaps by the level of intoxication running through his veins. Regardless, he leaned forwards, and parting lips, he took the tip of the rolanberry between them, before sliding down over the rest of the fruit, catching it in his teeth and pulling away. Finishing the morsel with an entirely unneeded, and rather  _ lewd _ sigh of pleasure, he smirked. “The good Count really thinks you can keep an eye on me?” Reaching out, he plucked another berry from the handkerchief, the fruit halfway out of his mouth as he stood there smirking.

“I know a few ways to deal with an errant lordling, even you. And you know I’m not afraid to stand up to you.” The display playing out before him causes the lancer’s heart to race, and swallowing hard at the lump rising in his throat, he glances away.  _ Bloody tease _ .. Sure now what his Lord was trying to accomplish, he glanced sideways. Two could play at that game. Leaning forwards, his tongue flicked out to run along the very corner of Grinnaux’s lips, before biting into the other half of the rolanberry still sticking out of the knight’s mouth, pulling back with his prize and grinning ear to ear as he finishes it off.

Normally such an action would have gotten his friend in trouble, but between the wine and the fruit, and their interactions that morning, Grinnaux could do little but stare for a moment, before his rumble broke free, quiet, rasping. “You know not what a trepidatious path you tread, my friend…” There was a slight exhale as he cleared his throat, before continuing. “The knighthood has some rather.. Specific oaths.” His tone turned sour at that, clearly not pleased with the lot of them. 

“Yereyere. I know. Ya’re supposed ta be  _ pure _ an  _ clean _ an  _ sanctified _ . Heh.” A pause was given, eyeing the knight before reaching up to ruffle his friend’s bangs with a low laugh. “So once ya’re in bed I’ll be goin out fer a while, thanks t’all yer damned teasin today..” 

Grinnaux let slip a low growl, jerking back and grasping the wrist, holding it in front of him. “You’ve been eyeing me like a prize waiting to be snatched all blasted day. What’s in that head of yours?”   
  
Amusement started to tick at the edges of Paulecrain’s expression. “Name one who wouldn’t stare, ser, when presented with all that ya ‘ave ta offer?” Pulling his hand back, he trailed a fingertip over Grinnaux’s lips, honey gaze unafraid, and half lidded. “There’s a whole swivin hells of a lot goin through my head right now… but that ain’t ya concern,  _ Ser _ .” His amusement only grew when the knight’s head turned to snap at the fingertip with a low noise. “Is this another one of those nights I ignore the noises yer makin?”

Violet eyes seemed to dilate, shifting from that soft orchid to a deep currant. Releasing the fingertip, he seemed about to say something else when a soft noise from nearby caused the knight to startle, one hand grasped a hold of Paulecrain’s hip while the other pinned over the lancer’s lips, his larger frame holding the smaller man roughly against the wall, one of his cousins walking by, deep in conversation, and entirely too close, to one of their guests. Not only had the bull drawn them both out of sight, but he had the lancer pinned against the wall, his own form flush with Paulecrain’s, his lips against the back of his own hand where it was pressed to the lancer’s own. 

It was no secret how Grinnaux tended to spend his evenings in the household,  _ alone.. And occasionally rather loud _ , especially not to the man who had been sharing his chambers since his arrival. However the sudden turn of attention to himself had Paulecrain’s curiosity peaked. Just as surprised being pinned to the wall for the second time in one day by the Dzemael Lordling, his brows furrowed, his hands shifted once more to his shoulders, giving a slight press, before, in an attempt to get him to release him, lips parted to teeth and tongue sucking and biting at his palm.

The movement under his hand did cause him to move it, though, as much a surprise to himself, as to the lancer he attacked, that hand was soon replaced with his lips, rather roughly, larger form shifting against the pinned man. The kiss was searing, questioning in its aggressiveness, though ended all too soon as his head jerked back at the sound of more voices wandering the garden nearby. 

It was all Paulecrain could do to react, the kiss startling, but, one he wasn’t certain was unwanted. Indeed he felt heat rising in his core for the second time today, the parting of lips giving way to a lowly groaned “ _ f-fuck… _ ” before his attention was snapped to the sound of nearby voices as well.  _ Shite..  _   
  
Full well he knew the Lordling was out of his range, both as a man, and as a knight,  _ Especially one of the esteemed Heaven’s Ward _ , but that didn’t change how his heart pounded at the searing looking those violet eyes offered as the man jerked away, parted lips accosted by a slow slide of his tongue, a look that spoke  _ malms _ of what currently graced the umber skinned man’s mind. He felt in a daze as Grinnaux turned sharply, stalking off through the garden, leaving the lancer with not but that heat searing him from within, with no promise of relief in sight, and entirely too many questions. He was well aware such things happened between lords and their servants, more often than time could count, though he, in the lancer’s experience, had never sought out another, _ let alone him _ , to relieve the tension he knew built up. Which left one question rising above all others.   
  
_ What had changed tonight? _


	4. Like Silent Thunder

The rest of Paulecrain’s guard duty was fairly uneventful, and while the dragoon had managed to calm himself over the next few hours, he couldn’t wait to get back up into the warmth of the room and relax. It was on silent footsteps that he ducked into the darkened chamber, making his way as quietly as he could to the couch, working straps to his armor in the process, a glance cast towards the shadow covered bed, towards where he knew Grinnaux lay, not wishing to disturb him.

Oh, but disturbed he already is, and had been for hours, having avoided it, trying to force himself to sleep, and finally, giving up in the battle in favor of taking matters into his own hands with a low and languid groan. He had barely begun to make headway with the issue, breath coming out in a soft, shuddering moan, when his ears pricked, hearing the door. Teeth dipped into his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, forcing himself to still although his body screams, aching for him to continue.

Waiting until the lancer has settled down proves nigh on unbearable, but he does manage, and slowly, when he thinks Paulecrain has settled into bed in the darkness across the room, ever so certain the man’s breathing has evened out into slumber, does he begin anew. Attempting to keep from noise at all, despite his desperate desire, agonized ache for relief, he closed his eyes to return to his fantasy.

Paulecrain stretched out across the settee, lids shut to seek out slumber, attempting to ignore, and possibly forget what had happened earlier, blaming it on the man being inebriated, perhaps, or under more stress than usual. It wasn’t until his ears caught the soft, telltale gasps of breath, and the slight rustling of cloth from his Lord’s bed that he allowed his eyes to slowly open. Should he speak up? Pretend he could not hear him? The internal debate wages on a good few moments, as panting from the shadows stirred warmth within once more. Rolling to face Grinnaux’s direction, his ears twitched, and he watched the barest of visible movements through half lidded lashes, even yet debating if he should alert the man to his consciousness.

The marauder was absolutely certain the man had fallen asleep, his ears twitching for every little breath for a while, before he found himself lost in his fantasies completely once more. It was not long before those silent gasps began becoming more frequent, forming low affirmations, wanton groans, and once or twice, a name, barely audible. So lost was he in his fantasy, and so certain, subconsciously, that his companion slumbered, his whimpering whispers remained unchecked, until…”nngh... ‘C-Crain… F-Fury’s tits… Y-Yess j-just like that…” Blasphemous, of the recently selected Holy Knight, the entire act, much less using the Fury’s name in such a manner, however overriding that was the sound of skin upon skin, slickened wet, audible motions, his breathy rasps growing all the more needy.

The sound of his own monicker amongst such pleasured sounds caused the lancer pause, his ears twitching and his eyes sliding the rest of the way open. The thought that the bull had been thinking of him during his ministrations brought forth a sense of confusion, and shock, more than anything else. At the same time, however, it built his resolve, shoving himself silently to his feet and guiding him towards that darkened side of the room. It was not before he was on his knees at the Knight’s bedside that he spoke, and even then, it was a husky whisper inches away from the man’s ear. “Enjoying yourself, calling out my name?”

“Paulecrain??” Grinnaux gasped, a sharp intake of breath coupled with jolting upright on his bed and scooting back towards the pillows slightly, tugging his covers with him. “Fucking hells I thought you were asleep!” Because that made it all right, right? Just because the man had been teasing him, admittedly through no fault of his own, with everything that could be, all bloody day, didn’t mean he’d actually wanted to be caught red-handed, as it were, and his embarrassment only worsened as he heard the lancer begin to chuckle quietly where he knelt.

“Do you often lay here pleasuring yourself to thoughts of me while I sleep not fulms away?” Even though shock and shame had replaced the clear signs of carnal pleasure upon Grinnaux’s face, the lancer wasn’t likely soon to forget that look, nor what he believed caused it, and if he was ever asked, he wasn’t certain he wanted to. “Care to share? What was going on in that mind of yours?” He had yet to move from the kneeling position he had taken, and now was leaning upon the bed, looking up into those vibrant violet eyes, so hesitant to meet honey-gold.

A low grumble was Grinnaux’s only response for a moment, in his shame murmuring under his breath. “...No… S’first time that I…” Oh Halone End me Don’t admit to it! “...It is not..commonplace...It-Just how long were you listening to me??” He huffed out a breath, glancing away from him. “I.. like as not had something I shouldn’t have at dinner.” Because blaming not so latent, repressed desires on your DINNER always worked right? 

The dragoon barely suppressed a snicker. Normally he would question whether or not he had heard correctly, but there had been no mistaking his own name on the needy warrior’s tongue. Still, he would play along, for now. It might mean a strike from the man, but he leaned forwards, pressing lips to his forehead, as if to check for temperature. “Well, if it was something bad you ate, that caused such.. Distress… then you should lay down and get some rest, all the more to feel better come the ‘morrow.” A pause was given as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “I’ll even massage you, if you like, tired and aching as you must be, so that you can rest?” There was a hint of mischief in honey golden hue, but thankfully it was not visible to the distracted, and quite ashamed, bull.

As if the teasing wasn’t enough, the kiss was just icing on the cake, as the marauder had to bite his tongue to keep himself still, torn between snatching the man from the hovering position over him, and laying him out on the floor. At the mention of a massage, however, his every muscle tensed, the idea of the lancer’s hands upon him bringing back the sinful, blasphemous thoughts from mere moments before in full, and causing a pang of desire to shoot through his core. “I’ll… not order you to do as such….” Though the idea was tantalizing, and if he hadn’t been harder than the old mahogany frame upon which his bed lay at the time, he might have been willing to take him up on it more freely. More oft than not he retired with aching sinew and joint, muscles sore from carrying around the armor he wore and the axe he wielded both. Before he could stop himself it slipped out. “I’ll not stop you from doing as you wish, however.” That may have been a mistake.

Blinking a few times, as he tucks the blankets down around his Lord, leaving them folded at his waist, upper torso bare. “It’ll help you relax.” Moving closer upon the bed, he leaned over Grinnaux, beginning at his shoulders and collarbone, working slow circles into tense flesh, though his gaze inevitably dropped in the near darkness to follow umber skin lower. “Twould be easier were I above ye.” 

Again the words were out before he could stop them. “Get on with it then…” He could have facepalmed, His eyes sliding closed for a moment before he muttered out after the fact. “If you think it’ll help me sleep.”

Paulecrain’s brow lofted. Idly he wondered how far he could push this before the bull snapped, even as he offered a nonchalant shrug and slid to straddle his thighs. Hands calloused from his lance go back to forcing tension from muscle and sinew, pausing over a particularly nasty looking scar. “Surprising this one didn’t kill you.. Must have been agony.” Paulecrain’s tongue flicked over a canine before he leaned down, unable to resist pushing that line, and kissing along the scar, his gaze piercing upwards through the darkness. “So why don’t you tell me what was going through your mind hmm?”

“Paulecrain…” he growled, though the massage shoving it’s way into tired muscles steals the edge from his voice. “Do not a-ask this of me.” His voice catches at the weight settling below, and a low, muffled groan slides it’s way free, despite the bull’s best intentions to muffle it. Damn the church, and damn the lancer waiting this bloody long… “It is not… the proper path… you may yet.. Keep your freedom.. Tred.. where I cannot.” An out, an escape, away from the knight sworn to oaths that lusted so after his servant so. Even as he offered, a part of him wished for the man to say no.

“Tred where you cannot?” There was amusement in that tone as he stared down at the bull beneath him. His Lord, his employer...friend. “You’re layin here havin a go and thinkin of me, of all people, an you’re tellin me to go?” The slight lilt of his accent poked through in his amusement, leaning down over his Lord’s form, speaking in a low, near whisper. “How about instead I lay all your achin muscles to rest...right now.. Quick, and quiet.. So no one knows?” That massage had been paused as one hand traveled lower to trace lazy circles around one pert nipple.

Grinnaux groaned at the ghost of a more intimate touch, his half lidded gaze staring up at his favored servant. “If anyone found out…” The man’s voice, raw as it was with desire, held a warning to it. 

One that the lancer was quick to answer. “None would speak against you my Lord….” He slid further down Grinnaux’s legs, smirking up at him even as he removed that thin sheet separating him from his prize. Status, knighthood.. All oathes be damned. “Though If you are worried about it overmuch, you could attempt to keep your voice down.” Watching his Lord’s every facial expression in the dim light, seeking digits exploring every ilm of what the Dzemael Lord had been graced with, tracing out along the underside, and each and every pulsing vein besides.

“Nngh.. Heard me before, have you?” His breath rolled into a soft chuckle, as the larger form shifted to better see the man betwixt his thighs, though that gaze was interrupted as his head fell back in a low “nn… F-fecking Hells..”

“I’m actually a very light sleeper.” Smirking as he rests upon his stomach, snickering quietly at the little motions of hips restrained. “Seems a bit dry.. Let’s fix that.” The low whisper was the only warning that Grinnaux received before his companion’s tongue was drawing from base to the very tip in one long, slow stroke, honey gold turned ever upwards, watching for any sign of displeasure, pleased when he found none.

Indeed a sudden, sharp groan was punctuated with an upwards thrust of his hips, seeking that wetness, that heat, aching for the friction he had been thus denied. Bright violet eyes, alight like the starlight, churned with a strange mingling of raw desire and something more personal, even as he muffled another groan with the back of his hand catching betwixt his teeth.

The bull’s sudden thrust, coupled with that cry of pleasure had his chest swelling with pride, knowing full well the man below him was thoroughly enjoying his ministrations, however, the thrusting would have to wait. His pace became nigh on agonizingly slow as he shifted his grasp to pin those muscular hips to the bed below. Words were unnecessary, and his mouth was otherwise occupied, circling the length once, twice, three times more before focusing upon the glans, and the bundle of nerves right below the tip.

Meanwhile the longer that tongue worked over heated flesh, the easier it was to see just how quickly the overworked flesh of the warrior was causing the bull to come unglued. Caution, Fear, even shame fell away, leaving not but that primal-like desire, his hand paying the price for his somewhat muffled cries. As that tongue teased so relentlessly against oversensitive nerves, however, Grinnaux could not hold back the low, languide moan, heavy and husky wrapped around the man’s name.

“You’re going to bring yourself injury… besides. I’d rather your cries came to me freely, so I know when my duty is done to it’s fullest.” One of the lancer’s hands moved up to grasp and tug at Grinnaux’s arm gently, before moving to once more wrap around his length. Lips pulling back to just suckle the glans, tongue brushing across in it slow, lapping motions, tasting of the pearlettes of pre-seed that dribbled along from the slit, his hand seeing to the rest of that long, aching shaft. 

“Someone will hear.” Came the low, growling groan. He had to try not to thrust, not to injure the man below with his sheer size, proportionate as it was to the rest of the overly large warrior. 

“No one will dare speak against ye.” Came the repeated growl of the lancer to his Lord, even as he took him betwixt his lips once more. There wasn’t a way in hell he could take all of it right now, but perhaps in time? 

Not that he had much chance to think on the matter as the surge of heat pooling in his core sends Grinnaux’s hips rolling upwards, his breath catching into low growls and groans. One hand moved then, lacing into snowy hair, pushing it out of the way of his vision catching that golden hue. Even with the overly slow, cautious actions of his companion, tension was building to an unbearable heat, electrifying pleasure with each motion of his would-be-lover’s hand, lips and tongue. One hand dug into the sheets as the other laced tighter into that silken hair, guiding each and every motion of his servant onto those thrusting hips. Roughened grasp rubbed against the base of Paulecrain’s ear, his breath catching. “F-Feck.. Nngh.. y-yesss..” His own head thrown back, unable to keep eye contact in the near ravenous desire that was assaulting his form.

To know that it was his own actions bringing his Lord this desire excited the lancer near as much as hearing his voice. Enjoying the vocalizations of his lovers was nothing new, but this.. This was different. Grinnaux was unlike any lover he had ever known, and he wanted more than this teasing taste. Doing his damndest to pin Grinnaux’s hips once more, he forces his lips apart further, willing his throat to relax as he pushes forwards, sheathing him between those lips till his nose brushed against golden hair. The sheer size almost makes him gag, however he forces himself to relax, taking a deep breath before making a cautious bobbing motion, withdrawing before ensheathing once more.

A low, growling whimper was music to the lancer’s ears as the bull thrusted, his hips refusing to still for long as that wet heat was presented, tight and beckoning. “P-Paulecrain..” Came a sound that was more growl than groan, desperation guiding shallow thrusts. Normally when he was alone, Grinnaux did not draw this out. It was relief, nothing more, but this? This was sheer bliss, but never quite enough to push him over. “-c-crain.. d-damnit…”

Smirking around the length, his otherwise un-occupied hand joins the first, backing off to suckling at just the tip once more, stroking along that aching shaft with one hand while the other teased up underneath trembling orbs, rolling and squeezing them between his digits. 

Whispered obscenities pepper their way through pleasured whispers, and murmurs of encouragement. His hips flexing again, rolling forwards in an effort to return to that wet heat, the only remedy for this searing sensation deep within his core, the tension bubbling forth, threatening to boil over. “Paulecrain please…” 

It feels like an eternity before his companion takes pity upon him, fingertips exploring downwards to stimulate another bundle of nerves, this time from outside, just behind those hanging, swaying sacks, even as his head dips down to take as much of the man as he can, even allowing him to slide into his very throat with naught but the thought that his throat would be sore tomorrow.

It didn’t take long at all for such ministries to bring forth product. Arched, trembling to his very core, he lay seemingly frozen in time as the fruits of the lancer’s labors were sent shooting down that waiting maw, thick, viscous liquid coating his throat. Panting for breath, the wave of endorphins settled around Grinnaux like the warmest of blankets, sheer bliss taking hold of his senses.

Once more Paulecrain fought the urge to gag at the sheer size, girth, and now amount that was being forced down his throat, though he took pleasure in the knowledge that the Lord had come undone at his hand. Slowly, as Grinnaux continued to tremble, and slowly relax, Paulecrain let him fall free of his lips with a wet ‘pop’. “Feel better?” Came the low rasp, sitting up long enough to reach down and grab a nearby flask, sitting on the desk to wash the flavor from his mouth, letting out a light squawk of his own as Grinnaux’s arm found purchase around his middle, and dragged him down, rolling over onto his side and nearly wrapping the smaller figure in his warmth. “Someone’s… cuddly… Does this mean I’m staying?”

Grinnaux growled under his breath, nipping sharply at the shoulder closest to his lips, before his eyes closed. “Shut up..” The voice was low, grumbling, but clearly pleased, a sound that only made the lancer chuckle slightly, before settling in for the night. 

What would tomorrow bring?


	5. Of Oaths and Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mild warning for some graphic scenes. Enjoy.

_ “...You look terrible, Sir Grinnaux.” _

“... You’re a swivin ray of sunshine an’ roses yerself.” The marauder let out in a low growl, before falling silent, one hand upon his forehead, propped up by the elbow on the vault mess hall’s banquet table, the other bearing a glass of some foul smelling fruit mixture to the hungover marauder’s lips. Nursing the pain in his skull, and the sickness in his stomach, he found himself with little desire to grace the Very Reverend Archimandrite with a glance, much less his full attention. 

Much to the annoyance of his aforementioned superior. “These long nights of yours reflect poorly upon the Ward. Do I need to bring this to the attention of His Eminence? Or shall I assign you more duties to keep you occupied, as you clearly have all of the time in the world to spare?”   
  
Another rumble echoed from the Bull’s lips before he bit back another comment. Instead, in a hiss, he murmured. “Forgiveness, Archimandrite. Mine duties to my house were.. Extensive, and lasted over-late last eve. If you wish to have words with the count about my more courtly duties, Please, be my guest.” He didn’t even want to talk to the man right now, let alone gaze upon the judgemental expression he was -certain- rested upon his features.    
  
Thankful, then, when the man gave a low tsk of disapproval, before moving towards the exit. “See that this ceases to become habitual, Ser Grinnaux, or at the very least attend your actions with more.. Delicacy.”

As the Archimandrite turned to leave once more, a thought floated through the haze, and he spoke. “Actually, Archimandrite.. Might I have a word?” Downing the rest of his drink as he started after the man. 

Zephirin turned, waiting, patiently, for the bull to catch up before continuing on his rounds. “Yes, What is it Ser Grinnaux?” He was trepidatious, as the man’s temperament was at best unpredictable, However he was, after all, a brother at arms.

“”I will get straight to it. You know of my house’s most recent ward and knight, yes?” The larger male glanced towards his commander as they walked. “I have known few to match his skill, with a lance, fewer still that could stand up to me in a spar. I would humbly suggest his admittance into the order.”   
  
“To best you in battle is a tall feat indeed… However I will need to see him fight myself before I make a decision upon this, as well as consult His Eminence.” Zephirin watched the Warrior, thoughtful. It was the first time the bull had ever asked for something, be it for himself or another, earnestly, and with such a lack of attitude. Perhaps… “Have him come to the training grounds. Make certain he is prepared. He will face you, and I will expect you to fight as if your life depends upon it. I will not settle for less than a true showing.”   
  
Grinnaux gave a slight bow of head and shoulders. “Of course, Archimandrite.” He did his damndest not to smirk, despite that blasted headache.

\---

“At the ready...Begin!”   
  
The Archamandrite’s voice rang clear through the training grounds, before soon to follow was clashing steel as lance met axe, and both met armor, again and again. A fairly even match, when not laden with alcohol and encumbered by hesitance. After the fourth draw between the agile lancer and the wild warrior, Zephirin’s voice rang out once more across the field. “I will speak with his Eminence, and inform you of his decision.” Though there was a spark of interest upon Zephirin’s features. He saw the potential Grinnaux had mentioned. It would do well to bring the man into the fold.

As the Archimandrite disappeared around a corner, Grinnaux clapped Paulecrain across the shoulders, letting out a low laugh. “You impressed him!” Arm draped around his friend’s shoulders he chuckled once more at the raised brow of the lancer, left panting slightly by their exchange.    
  
“How can y’tell, the stick up his arse wiggle differently?” The grin that the lancer flashed was mischievous, and made more so by the way it caused the warrior to double over laughing. When he finally could move, he was dragging the man to the brume for a drink.

The next few weeks would see Paulecrain inducted into the Ward, with an assignment to his liege directly. They would work together for the foreseeable future, something that suited the two of them -just- fine.

\---

A few months later found them amid the snowdrifts of Western Coerthas. It was supposed to be an easy enough mission. In, take care of the enemy, out. It was something they had done a million times before. That was the last thought that ran through his mind before the chaos that was to follow.

Grinnaux wasn’t certain when the creature had gotten by him, why it’s attention had been dragged away from his grasp, but it had happened in an instant. A sharp, keening cry of pain, echoing over the snow drifts, a splatter of crimson across snowy white and royal blue, the form across the field from him collapsing to the icy drifts.

A roar echoed free of a throat hoarse from battle, as the bull saw red. Charging forwards, scale, flesh, bone, sinew, blood.. so much blood. Flying off in different directions as the bull used his -axe- to climb the creature’s back, every few feet -ripping- it out with a shower of viscera to get closer to his target. One wing grasped, with one hand as he tore into bone and membrane, making short work of the connection joints and sending the limb askew. Soon to follow was the second in much the same fashion, the beast below him writhing and -roaring- in anger and agony. Another chunk ripped out of the creature’s very spine as he continued forwards, spikes in the marauder’s sabatons keeping his footing on writhing scale before in a final mighty swing the head and part of the neck were cleaved from the body, sending the man topping forwards and off of the collapsing corpse.

“Paulecrain… fuck..” He growled, low, weary from wounds he had sustained from the flailing beast’s final throes, dragging his axe behind him. Sheathing the weapon in it’s back holster, he knelt down, dragging the fallen dragoon to his chest. “ ‘crain….. Come on Paulecrain stay with me..” Inspecting the damage, damned near tears, as he checked to see if he was still breathing. Faint, but there. The rasp caught him off guard, and his eyes widened.

“….please do not forget me…” The lancer’s head lolled to the side, the wound seeping more and more where his eye -should- have been.

“No.. NO! No you are going to stay with me, Do you HEAR ME? You are NOT allowed to die! You’re going to LIVE.. THAT’S A DAMNED ORDER!” The Dzemael lord let out a shrill whistle for the large beast of a chocobo that normally carried him, dragging Paulecrain into the saddle, one arm holding the man close to his chest as the other took the reins. “I wont lose you.. DAMMIT NOT NOW, not to THIS.”

The vault halls were a-bustle with activity when the marauder came stumbling in, covered in blood head to toe over their normally pristine uniform, and carrying his dearest friend in the world. Some tried to help him, the lower priests, men of healing and alchemy, but many more got out of his way, as he charged through the halls at full tilt, only moving around behind him to follow at the sight of the -clearly- frightened bull’s face, and that of his unconscious companion.

“Hold on, just a little longer ‘crain, hold on!” Grinnaux was stumbling by the time the cleric was found, and by then, word had already reached him. Eyes alight with worry and both reagents and medicines at the ready, he huffed. “On the bed there, now! easy! How long ago?” the conjurer was already cleaning the excess blood around the lancer’s face, wincing as more pooled in the empty socket. Watching the bull pace, he sighed, barking orders at a few of the other priests to see to Grinnaux.. a difficult task, as he focused his attention on Paulecrain. “He’s lost most of the eye, the flesh is rended from temple to cheekbone… I’ll need the sutures.. and.. yes that set. now that.. soak up the extra.. roll him onto his side we need to drain the socket.”

His fellow clergyman did his best to aid him before he barked for him to go see to the bull once more, even as he was casting over Paulecrain’s skull even as it took three of his fellow clergymen, and two more knights besides to drag the injured bull out of the room for his own treatment, and to let Haumeric work.

He almost missed the rasping voice, sliding free of his patient, when Paulecrain spoke. “….promise me… i won’t die here…” The lancer had regained a semblance of consciousness, focusing past the pain, swearing he could hear the angry shouts of Grinnaux in the hallway, a fact that wasn’t far from the truth as he refused to be treated, trying to get back into the room, much to the misfortune of several more knights, a few who would end up needing treatment themselves before this ordeal was over.

Haumeric smiled softly, looking down as he continued to channel aether into the lancer. “I will not let you fall, brother… Fury willing, you will yet live.” It seemed enough for the delirious figure as he slipped from the waking world once more. It took a good fifteen minutes of solid channeling, which caused the mage to grow weary, before the bleeding had been staunched, and the wound within the eye closed. from there, cleansing magic coursed through the wound, and the next few minutes were spent carefully sewing up what was left. It would scar.. badly.. and it would likely cause him pain but… Halone willing, he -would- live.

The last few moments were spent carefully bandaging the wounds, before the bull, who had, in his absence, been stripped of his armor, his own wounds treated, and been forced to clean up, returned, barging in, and falling to his knee beside the bed.

“Help me clean him up.” Haumeric smiled, softly. “He’s only resting.. His life is in Halone’s hands now, but his mortal coil is in ours. Help me get his armor off, and clean him up.” He watched as the large, umber skinned Lord took -special- care in tending his fallen companion. It warmed the priest’s heart that someone could make the raging bull act so -gently-… but much like other secrets he kept for the sake of his brethren, he kept this one. Once Paulecrain was settled, having even changed the sheets while Grinnaux held the patient carefully aloft, he left them to rest.

It was four days later, when he was on his way to coming in to tend the wounds once more, when he paused at the door. Ears twitching, he heard Paulecrain’s voice once more, for the first time since he had rasped his question.

“…I love you…” There was softer mumbling after as the lancer’s stalwart companion responded, with words only for him. Stepping back and to the side, he frowned, his head bowing, and offering a silent prayer to Halone. A few moments later, and after his prayer, the priest entered, his head tilting to one side, as he found the marauder propped up against the headboard, the lancer curled up against his chest, Grinnaux’s strong arms wrapped protectively around him, both asleep.

Haumeric blushed lightly at the sight, his heart, and breath, catching in his throat, before he stepped back, and away, quietly shutting the door behind him. His last order before moving away, to a pair of the temple knights, to watch the door but do not let any enter.. that they both needed their rest. Just one more thing to add to his confessions to his Goddess… and perhaps somewhere, in those silent prayers… a ray of hope… that the two men find.. some semblance of peace.


	6. Distension in the ranks

_“Can you believe the audacity of that.. That cretin?”_ _  
_   
Grinnaux glanced towards Paulecrain, across the room, before his gaze drifted back to his uncle, who was, as per usual, as of late, in rare form. The dragoon glanced back with a barely hidden roll of that singular honey-gold eye.   
  
_“Fortemps has brought -outsiders- into our borders, at a time like this! More mouths to feed, more idiots to keep track of, and to say nothing of what they might -do- while within our borders!”_   
  
The Bull sighed, nodding where necessary and looking appropriately perturbed by what his uncle was saying. Hells, from what -he- had heard, it was only three, measly people, which he could, if necessary, find a way to take care of, accidents happened, after all, but first he had to listen to the third rant in the span of as many hours on the subject. Full glad he was when his linkpearl went off, the Very Reverend Archimandrite calling him and his ward brother both in for duty. He would honestly rather deal with the Archimandrite’s judgement than his Uncle’s at the present moment. Excusing himself with a low flourish, he beckoned to Paulecrain, before heading towards the vault.

It wasn’t until they were well outside the mansion before he droned out in a growl. “Does that man EVER shut up?”

“He’s -your- uncle.” Came the retort back from beside him, and a low laugh besides. “Three bloody folk, freezin in the snow, and suddenly it's the end o’bloody Ishgard?”

Grinnaux snorted in reply. “Don’t expect them to last long, these new strays, do you.”  
  
The look Paulecrain shot the bull spoke volumes of what he thought of the matter, a look that had them both walking the rest of the way in silence. Whether they did nor did not, new blood meant trouble. They would have to keep an eye on that trouble, before it spilled over into more important matters.

\---

A thing that would come to pass not but a few short weeks later. While the public eye was a bustle with how the knights of their houses _praised_ this strange adventurer from beyond their walls, in private, the Count was _furious_ . A fact he took out in no small way on his nephew.   
  
_“That blasted man and his -outsider- lackeys have played our men for incompetent fools!”_

This time, Grinnaux shared in his uncle’s annoyance, if only in that most of the men that had been showed up by said outsider had been trained by his own hand. “They’re too.. Public.. Now.. for the.. Usual.. Solution.” He ventured to the raging count, who paused, before a grin started to spread across his features. 

“For one.. But not, I think, for another. There have been rumors of them frequenting the Brume, yes?”  
  
Grinnaux’s eyes narrowed. He did not like where this was going, but he nodded. “Aye.”   
  
Paulecrain, who had been standing near a window on the side of the room, spoke then. “Askin all sorts of questions of the regulars too… Just the kid and the short lass, though, not their adventurin friend.”   
  
_“Is that so.. Well, my boys.. I do believe you know what you must do…”_

Grinnaux raised a brow at his uncle, before that Dzemael smirk graced his lips. “Aye.. I think we do.” 

\---

“We are gathered here today, under the watchful gaze of the Fury, to ascertain the guilt of two souls in a trial by combat! Petitioners, Step forward!” The High Adjucator’s voice rang clean and clear through the Tribunal, the small crowd of witnesses whispering, before falling silent to his tones.

The sneer upon the bull’s face was prideful. His petition had been heard, and as a member of the highest knightly order in Ishgard, the Tribunal was hardly going to turn a deaf ear. Stepping forwards, he turned to face the high seat, Paulecrain, his second, following silently behind. Once more, the High Adjucator’s voice rang out. “Ser Grinnaux, for the benefit of all here present, I would ask you to repeat the charges which you have leveled against this man and this woman.”

The sneer left his lips, though Paulecrain’s shoulders squared beside him, his own lips curling at the edges as his friend and Lord spoke. “I, Ser Grinnaux de Dzemael, brother of the Heaven’s Ward, did bear witness to these two foreigners consorting with heretics!” As he fell silent the crowds around them spoke in hushed whispers that drown out each other in a low hum.

Turning his stern golden gaze towards the young elezen male and his lalafel companion, The High Adjucator spoke once more. “Let the accused step forward!” As the two small frames stepped forwards, the crowds continued to murmur, gaining a glaring glance from Paulecrain, while his Lord looked on in silence. “Alphinaud Leveilleur, Tataru Taru, You have heard the charges leveled against you. Will you take up arms to refute Ser Grinnaux’s claim and thereby prove your innocence in the eyes of gods and men?”

Grinnaux’s gaze narrowed slightly as the lad’s voice rang out clear and calm. “I, Alphinaud Leveilleur, am innocent of this charge, and claim my right to trial by combat!”   
  
The bull stole a glance at his companion, and a slight smirk was exchanged. Even yet, their attention returned to the accused, as the small woman’s voice rang out shortly after, and a slight growl was given under his breath. 

“I, Tataru Taru, am Innocent of this charge, but, I am no warrior, and cannot fight, so I claim the right to name a champion!” A murmur went through the crowd once more, hushed by another quick glare from the pale Ward Knight.

The High Adjucator pondered this for a few moments, before speaking with a slight nod. “To the old and infirm, to the young and the weak, this right we allow. Very well. Who will stand for this woman?”

As the gates rose and fell once more, the bull’s arms crossed over his chest. A child, and the self same adventurer that had so irritated him, and his uncle both? Perchance it was fate indeed, though his gaze remained stern.  
  


“Just as I was beginning to doubt the efficacy of the Ishgardian Justice System! Come, my friend, let us put an end to this mummer’s farce!”

  
Paulecrain sneered quietly as he overheard the twerp before them praising the arrival of their companion, resolve boosted by his presence no doubt. His singular gaze drifted upwards as the Adjucator made the call to begin, gates rising and falling to the main arena, as Grinnaux, himself, and their targets stepped in.

“Oh Halone, render unto us Your judgement! Raise up the righteous, and cast down the wicked!”

The fight lasted near on half an hour, each blow countered, bested, retaliated. The child, it would seem, good with magic, while his adventurer was skilled in matters of combat that far exceeded the stories circulating about them. Paulecrain took knee first, bested by the blows of magic he did not see coming, and in his distraction, Grinnaux, too, was bested. A fact that did NOT sit well with the bull, but in the eyes of the populace, of their witnesses, he could do not but accept the Fury’s judgement. It would not be done this way.

Which left _other_ avenues to be explored, in all due time.

\---

Grinnaux growled under his breath, sitting off to the side of the temple gardens, sharpening stampede’s edge, in a rather clearly foul mood. Sore back against the temple wall, his violet gaze drifting out over fields of flowers that towered towards the sky above, which was clear for once, he thought back to what had just transpired.   
  
The entire debacle had been a disgrace, and it angered him more to think of both what would be done within the ward, as well as how his uncle would handle things without. He would be brought before the Archbishop once more, he was certain of it. How -dare- that foolish child and adventurer make a mockery of himself and his ward? In his own home! He was the _best_ here, bar none.. They would pay, dearly for their transgressions. He would see to it… but how? He would have to go about such machinations carefully now.

So lost was he in the furious twisting and machinations within that he neither heard the approach, or could prepare for the boot that planted firmly against his side in greeting, sending him sprawling. Fire blazing in his eyes nigh on immediately, he rolled to his feet, snatching up his axe still dripping with the oil he was using upon it in the process.   
  
“The HELLS?” came out before he realized just -who- had knocked him on his ass. Straightening, he tilted his head at the shorter man, a slight grimace to his lips. “Archimandrite.”

Perhaps the kick had eased his fury slightly, graced as he was by the sight of a momentarily downed foe, to watch Ser Grinnaux’s fury slip into shock and then watch the man scramble for what may be the best he could well achieve of a more military attention. “Dare I hope you know the reason of this assault?” Narrowed peridot regarded the man before him with smoldering depths.

Deep violet eyes burned with defiance as one foot shifted slightly behind him, a sneer slipping across his lips. He neither graced the man with a vocalized answer nor looked like he would back down, his mind still amuck with the sheer fury that had held tightly to him since his failure, compounded by the judgmental glare upon his commander’s features. Squaring his shoulders, his muscles tensed. Whatever the next strike was, he would be prepared, and unbudging.

“Truly? You would choose defense, when you know perfectly well your fault in this?” To say that the Archimandrite was displeased was an understatement, turning to fully face the Bull. “Never before have we been forced to suffer such disgrace. The first time we incriminated innocents, or those only remotely associated with the heretics? Nay, but to accuse one so blatantly in the public view and _favor_ as the Warrior of Light and their companions? Truly you should have known better.”

“I have done only what was bidden of me by my duties and the Holy See.” The cold, aggressive tone was accompanied by a narrowing of his gaze towards his commander, every muscle tense under armor. “As you well know, and if it wasn’t for your desperation to save face you would see that, too. They _were_ interacting with heretics! Even Charibert caught them!”

“Then what, I wonder, has kept you from simply snuffing out their light in a darkened alley, Hmm? Tossing them from the parapets? Accidents _do_ happen. Surely this would have saved us from this fiasco.” The Archimandrite’s gaze narrowed at the Bull in turn. Though his armor may be white, it was far from pure. He would do anything and everything to ensure their Eminence had his way, something Grinnaux knew all too well.

“I do have _some_ decorum, Ser. Aside from that… They should not have survived. You know it as well as I!” The Bull’s face twisted in anger. “What right do they have? _Outsiders,_ To come in here, tear apart traditions and faith that have been strong for entire era!”

“ _Do you now_? Use it wisely.” The Archimandrite’s tone implied a warning, his form tensing more-so, as if he would strike out at the warrior at any moment, near growling in his fury. “No rights! They had no rights, that is, until a certain family made them wards of their house… How… Detestable.” A slight hiss was soon to accompany his prior statement. “How -dare this family spit upon our traditions in such a way. To allow not only outsiders within our walls, but to allow them to run amok? It is utterly disgusting, and likely the reason why this trial should have been a murder in the Brume where none would have questioned it! I doubt we will be able to make such a bold move now, with the eyes of the nation upon them.”

“Fortemps has always been a cuck. Weak.. an adulterer.” Grinnaux sneered, his head dipping slightly. “That mine uncle has not wiped him from the face of Ishgard is yet beyond me.” A pause. “Though it certainly sounds as if your ire lay more with these foreigners and the Fortempts than it does with me, _commander_.” There was that sneer again, his axe resting over one shoulder as he stared down the man before him with that pompous, self righteous smirk.

“This situation was a disaster! Handled poorly, executed less so.” The Commander tilted his head. “Need I remind you that Paulecrain and yourself were defeated by this… child.. And their champion? Do I need to tell you what this does to tarnish the reputation of the Heaven’s Ward as a whole?”

“As Always, I did what no one else _would_ . What no one else had the _balls_ to do and you chastise me?” There was a growl to the Bull’s words, his grasp tightening on his axe, his gaze narrowing. “Had it been you, you think you would have bested them? You think you alone would have stood a chance where I and my second were bested?” Dropping his axe free of his shoulder, yet held in his grasp, he growled out. “You think yourself stronger than I? More agile than Paulecrain? Shall we _test_ that, _Archimandrite_?” It was clear the Bull’s temper was flaring, and it was causing him to push that authority, to stand his ground when he should have bowed back gracefully.

“We may never know. You have taken the ability and reason to stand against them away before it was available. Now that the matter is resolved in the eyes of the people our hands are tied!” The Archimandrite glared, hissing out in turn. “There is naught more than I would wish in this moment than to turn back the hours, and take your place, Yes. Then I would eliminate those pests myself.” At the challenge, the snow-clad man stood straighter. “I shall gladly demonstrate Ser.” One hand moved to his back, retrieving Shattered Heart, the sword screeching on it’s way free of the scabbard, as if it, like it’s master, thirsted for blood. “This moment is long overdue.” The time for speaking was clearly over, indeed the commander’s only thought was to teach the errant Lord why it was he, and he alone, that was second to Thordan.

The shifting of metal as the cross-blade settled into place when Stampede was made ready was equally as daunting, and the Bull’s violet eyes narrowing into slits past it would have made lesser men quake with fear. As it was, an unearthly grin took the son of Dzemael’s lips. “Oh yes, YES. Demonstrate to me why I should follow your lead, AND NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND!” The last was near roared as the large form rushed forwards, swinging heavy with Stampede in an overhead spin.

Whether it was surprise from the battle cry, or attack itself, Zephirin did not seem to have expected an actual charge, as before he knew it his opponent was upon him, Weapon twirling menacingly in an arc that would likely have cleaved into the side of his skull had he not managed to move his own blade to parry in time. The parry, however, was weak in his surprise, and his thoughts wandered slightly. So this is what it was like, to be the prey of their mighty Bull? His scowl turned towards a grimace, and then a wild grin. He had fought far too many lesser opponents to gain this station, he had nearly forgotten what a true challenge felt like. Had this been a fight to the death, these precious moments of reflection might have cost him his light forever, as it was he was straining to push back against the axe that was entirely too close to his ear.

There it was again, that fateful sneer that graced Grinnaux’s darkened features, the bull shifting forwards with yet more power behind his motions. With the sword sumarily pinned as it was, he swung the heft forwards, knocking into the side of the commander’s skull with a force that, if he had indeed put any more force behind it, would likely have cleaved the man’s head from his shoulders. Instead, he snatched the great sword from the dazed Zephirin, knocking it away from them. Weapons would only get in the way.   
  
The commander would have to _earn_ the Bull’s respect before it would be given. A fact that flitted through the smaller man’s mind as he stumbled, dazed from the blow, and the nightmarish battle cry from before. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins, and yet his body felt sluggish. _If he is this formidable, why did he not win?_ Thus disarmed, he did not need to follow the blade with his gaze to know it was well beyond his reach. 

Another twist of the heft, and sweep of the leg sent the Archimandrite tumbling to the ground, the larger man following him down. His own axe was soon to follow Shattered Heart, skittering across the stone as both gauntlet-ed hands grasped the front of pristine armor, lifting, and then slamming down into the cobble. “Do you _really_ think you could have done _better_ , Archimandrite? DO YOU?” 

Whether it be the Warrior’s fury heightening his skills, or surprise dulling Zephirin’s, the man was at a loss, his struggle minimal in the aftermath of the most recent reeling blow, growing more dazed as he was mercilessly rammed against the ground. Even yet, he managed to hiss out a question. “Truly? Were you going _all out,_ then… or simply.. _Playing with prey_?” A valid question, considering he was the first to best the Commander in such a way.

Grinnaux’s rage was palpable, his fury driving the man into the ground once more, before hands pinned against shoulders as he snarled down. “If I knew that do y’really think I’d not have rectified the issue already? They should not have won! No man has stood before my fury and walked away!” The raging warrior was inches from his Commander’s face, broiling just under the surface, pinning Zephirin to the ground, limbs askew like a whore ready for the taking. “You could have not done better and you’ve no ground to stand on to judge my ability.”

“Tch..” Zephirin’s tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth, displeasure yet writ across his features. Certainly it was clear that he had been bested, and the Warrior’s fury yet broiled above him, but how to placate the Bull, without giving ground? It was not as if he was wrong. He had hand picked each of the Ward for their abilities, should he not then take pride in the fact that the man could best him? Even so, there was a time and a place for everything...and this was neither. “I do see your point, crystal clear… The matter is closed.” An attempt to move left him further pinned as the warrior’s grasp tightened. “ I was wrong to accuse your skills as lacking.” He hoped the statement would ease the enraged axe-wielder.

Slowly the bull’s lips curled back into that sneer, his eyes narrowed as his weight was still spread over the smaller form. “Your apology is lacking… I do not believe you truly repentant for your accusations.” 

“I stated I was wrong, Ser Grinnaux. What more do you wish to hear? You are highly skilled, it is true, but you forget your position. Your point has been made.” The man was making a rather valiant attempt to keep his irritation to himself.

Seeing his commander pinned under him in such a manner sent a spark through the bull. Some might refer to such a thing as blood-lust, but for death? Nay, his prey had already been bested… and he had taken great joy in the act. There was a darkness in his gaze as he moved off of, and away from his commander, staring at the prone form for a few moments longer than necessary before turning to grab his axe, and go, his shoulders hunched and his lips pursed in a slight snarl. It was the same spark that had flared when he had first pinned Paulecrain to the wall, those few moons ago, he realized, and that was a fact whose admission was tantamount to heresy in it’s own right. Something he could never admit to his Commander. 

The droop in the man’s shoulders, his tenseness, like a coeurl ready to pounce. These things and more were taken into account as the Archimandrite retrieved his sword. “You certainly have won, and made your point. Any other would rejoice at besting their Commanding Officer….. And yet you do not seem so….unless you were perchance enjoying having me so compromised?” 

“I’ve no idea of what you imply, Ser.” The tone was low, growling, his back yet to the man behind him, before beginning to walk away. The slight tsking behind him, however, gave the already fuming bull pause.  
  
“Don’t you? I think you have not looked in this particular manner before… I would be .. most interested.. To know your thoughts, Ser Grinnaux.” The slight tease was interrupted when the bull abruptly spun, pinning the now standing man against the stone wall nearby, his breath heated, face entirely too close to Zephirin’s own. “You should be careful of what you say _Archimandrite_ . One might think you yourself tempted by… darker things…”   
  
There was a snarl upon Zephirin’s lips now. “Unhand me Ser Grinnaux!” 

“And if I refuse? You have tested my temper time and time again this eve alone. Your own actions betray you, your words more so. I will not be near as lenient again. You may be my commander, but you are not my _better_.” Snarling, he turned to leave, yet again, stalking through the halls, and leaving the Commander behind.

This time the reply was silence as the Archimandrite chose to remain quietly, watching the man disappear down the hall, still seething, but with few outlets to pour that anger into. It would not do to continue fighting his subordinate this day. These past few hours had certainly reminded him that he yet had a few shortcomings to overcome, and he was somewhat thankful that this fiasco had only been witnessed by the two of them. *Easier to deal with the fallout.*

\---

It was several days later that the Bull found himself once more in one of the back passages, deep within the Vault. Not often traveled, private. Little did he know his usual chosen hideaway would not leave him alone this day. Thoughts of the way the Archimandrite had glared so defiantly at him, that look in his eyes as he was pinned… The sheer velvet of his anger… They would not leave the warrior alone, and thus, lost in thought, he paused beside a window, looking down into the training grounds.

Little did he know that it was at that moment the object of his thoughts would round a corner into often unused passageways, away from the crowd and clamor of the rest of the Vault. Seeing the bull before him, Zephirin’s steps came to a halt, the rage and power of the man still fresh within his memory, overshadowing much of what the Commander might have once entertained in private. A light hiss escaped clenched teeth and he forged on once more as if nothing had happened between them.

The pause gave Grinnaux long enough to take a cursory glance at the object of his mental meanderings, his gaze shifting over Zephirin from the corner of his eye. Here, where the past few days he had found solitude to ponder his thoughts, even away from his best friend, he found himself beset once more. A slight sulk took his shoulders at the hiss, the sound like an echo in such long and overly sensitive ears, in such a quiet place. “Archimandrite...” There was a slight shift to the man;s stance, and his voice held a low tone, indeed much quieter than his normal boom.

The Commander paused, despite his earlier thoughts to proceed apace, spinning to face the man with a piercing green gaze upon him. The greeting was both surprising and worrisome, especially considering the way in which they had last parted. After a moment’s breath he spoke quietly, concisely. “Are we to act as if recent events were naught but idle fleece gathering?”

“Is that your wish?” The words came out without hesitation, much to the Bull’s chagrin, though he was quick to recover. “It would seem we were both.. Put out… by the situation and took out such aggression upon one another. I am not your enemy, nor you mine. Tis, I believe, the _Warrior of Light_ that drove such a wedge between us, would you not agree, brother?” A pause, before he turned fully to face him. “Indeed, while I do not, and would not, hesitate to test myself against you, I would not wish to do so in blind anger.”

“...” Zephirin took in the sight before him with no small amount of trepidation. On the one hand, it was a rare thing to have Grinnaux admit so readily any fault at all, however it was still early yet for inebriation, therefore the man must be speaking in earnest. Even so, on the other, he remembered the flare of shadow within that fury filled gaze from days before. _Something.. Feral.. Thirsting_ … “An acceptable explanation, and the best course of action. Not to forget, mind you, but forgiveness, under the eyes of the Fury, in her most hallowed halls.” A slight nod, as he took a step closer, to look out the same window as the warrior had been gazing. “Admittedly I was not in full control of my faculties, in mine own anger, I reacted… unbecoming.. Of a Commander.” A pause, before a glance was sent to the side. “Even so… Should you wish to test yourself against me, Ser, this time, without any ill feelings… my afternoon is clear.”

Grinnaux’s brow lofted. That had been perhaps too easy, however he nodded once. “A proper spar then?” At the nod he received in kind, the warrior beamed. This, This he would welcome, and test himself against the man he would, with clearer head, and calmer tactics, an even match, and one that would earn the son of Dzemael’s respect, without question.


	7. Living in a Haze...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When all one knows is the will of one's Primal... it makes memories fuzzy... and if one could break free, would the price be worth it?  
> Their final Fall...  
> OR is it?

Grinnaux rubbed his temples, the large man’s gaze narrowed, annoyed. How many days had it been? How many weeks? Why could he not remember? Glancing to the side in the dining hall, he saw his brothers headed for the meeting chambers. The Archbishop had called them again. Plans.. Something about plans coming to fruition soon? 

Yes… yes they were going to save Ishgard, end the war. He remembered now. Their purpose, their Holy decree. Before those meddlesome adventurers could stop them… First The Lord Commander.. Aymeric. Yes he remembered, the guards had caught wind of a plan to take him from the vaults. They would be buying the Archbishop time to continue with his plan… Azys Lla… hope for an end to the war with Halone’s Aid… The Bishop had spoken of such.. Of the end of this hell… peace… 

He could go back to the Manor.. Hells, perhaps even build his own mansion? HA! What his uncle would think of THAT.. take Paulecrain.. Of course. One needed loyal knights...friends… The thought put a smile on the Bull’s chiseled features as he made to join his brethren. Soon. Soon all of their work would come to a head. Soon… But he would make up for the first time.. He would end the lives of those adventurers.. He would not be cut down again.

\---

His body ached, his mind was hazy. He had failed.. Again? Anger, fury of a thousand storms welled within him. He wanted to go back, tear them limb from limb for bringing him to his knees yet again. He wanted to- A strange calm settled around his shoulders like a warm blanket, as he came closer to the Archbishop, ported there by their gifted magic, a gift from Halone, No… The Archbishop himself. Everything would be well.. It was no matter.. The Archbishop’s work would not be stopped. 

It was time to pull the airship around. Silently he wished he could be there for their Inquisitor’s own meet with the warrior and his companions.. To watch as those flames licked at skin as they had so many errant heretics… made so very many confess all before the might of the sadistic mage’s power. Orders were unquestionable however, and he did as he was told, as he always did, for the Archbishop's will was absolute, and his loyalty without question.

It was but mere moments later when Thordan boarded, escorted by Charibert, but where, then was Zephirin? Ah.. the roof… and there, the troublesome adventurer.. The bastards and the dragoon.. The fury within was met with that same warmth felt always in Thordan’s presence, however, and he stayed where he was at the helm. His ears perked, the sound of the squawking Bastard commander to be heard, screaming for Thordan. It almost brought a smirk to his lips, before he heard another sound, and chanced a glance.. Long enough to see the Fortempts Bastard fall. A frown touched his lips. It should have been the foreigner.. The outsider to fall, not one of their own, Bastard or not. The warrior dying would have ended their pursuit.. Their vain hopes of defiance… but no…

Thordan’s command caught in his ears, and the Archbishop’s will was once more his own, his own thoughts lost to the task of pushing the ship into a spin to pick up their Very Reverend Archimandrite, and jet off in a heavy wash towards Azys Lla. 

\---

All around him the din of battle, his brothers fighting against the warrior and his allies. Steel to steel, arrows flying, song… The melody.. That was what had broken him from his trance-like state… in time to see one after another of his brothers falling to the reign of attacks from their foe. He looked to Thordan, who stood.. Stood by and watched! No.. This wasn’t right, wasn’t Justice, the man had made himself a god! No.. NO! He willed his body to move, to fight against the very actions it was taking, and yet, he could do naught.. Forced to fight on, to watch as each of his brethren fell to slaughter. A familiar cry rang through the air.. One he had heard at his side through countless battles, the last to fall, defending his flank, as he ever had, His loyal knight.

The rage was boiling over now, past the will of the primal, past all forms of lucidity, at the sight of his most trusted friend, sprawled on the floor, arrows piercing his armor. He charged, one more time.. The last time, axe swinging wildly, feral in his fury, though it availed him not. He too would fall, to the Warrior’s onslaught. He heard Thordan cry out in anguish. He too, then, fell… It mattered not.. The haze was lifting… Freedom.. But at what cost? Reaching out, his hand, bloody, gauntlet fading with the release of their power, to rest over the hand of his fallen friend, singular honey eye open, unseeing, dulled in his passing. There were no words that came, though Grinnaux’s lips moved… and then everything went dark.


	8. New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> re-awakening in the unfamiliar... all alone.....

His head was pounding. How many days had it been? The tide had washed away the signs of how badly his ‘awakening’ had gone, but the bull yet worried over the empty ship and chummed waters that had been found a few malms south of the bay.

They had screamed, when they brought the bloody, bare as his nameday marauder aboard…. when he had turned around on the people that had hauled him out of shark infested waters, bleeding, battered and bruised, and turned around to snap the first man’s neck, before using him to knock the other one back into the already chummed water they’d pulled him from.

They had fought… but there had never been a man that could withstand the bull on a rampage.. Even without Stampede, he was a force to be reckoned with.. It wasn’t until the last man had collapsed at his feet that he came to his senses, and looked around. The first thing he noticed was the chill of the ocean mist on his bare, bloodied skin. Looking around, he sighed, before muttering under his breath. Well… he didn’t know how he -got- way out.. wherever this was… but Zephirin was going to murder him for this….

And then the memories hit him.. and hit him hard. The fight in the vault.. the flight to Azys Lla.. the screams.. of their enemy… and then.. his falling brothers. Their faces floated before unseeing eyes, and he collapsed to his knees. A roar echoed it’s way free of his lips, clawing at the wood of the deck, between the fallen that he had slain. Rage turned to anguish, sorrow untold, limitless, and he -screamed- until his voice went hoarse.

It would be several hours before he let the bodies of the crew sink overboard.. another few before he found something aboard the ship that would serve for him to -wear-… and then? The rowboat was lowered into the water, and he began to paddle.. numbly, towards the nearest lights on the horizon that was slowly getting lighter… Dawn was coming…

Pity there was no one else here to see it at his side…….

\----

Making his way into the port city-state was easier than he had expected, pulling up the rowboat alongside the docks, and slipping up. Face hidden, uncertain of his surroundings, the marauder attempted to gain his bearings. What was this place? Thankfully he had taken courses in Eorzean during his time in the scholasticate… His Uncle had always been strict in their schooling. After resting on the docks a time, he managed to piece together *where* he was. It was a long way from home, leastwise on foot. Squaring his shoulders, he headed further into the city. There had to be a bar here somewhere.

He would not be long disappointed. Traveling up the lift, the Drowning Wench was like a familiar oasis in this sea of the unknown. The patrons might be different but one bar was much like another. Moving to the counter he was greeted by a jovial man with a seafaring accent. He did not speak much in return, save to order a meal, and drink, with what coin he had stolen from the pirates.

Halfway through his meal, Baederon spoke with a casual tone, causing the errant bull to glance up with a perk of brow. “Ye ain’ from these parts, are ye lad?” When silence greeted him, The guild leader sighed. “Ye look strong.. Could use a fella like ye fer a job er two… if yer interested? It’ll cover lodgin.. An repairs fer yer gear besides? Somethin ta think on yea?”

Violet eyes shifted up and down the hyur’s frame a moment. Adventurer’s guild, thats what he had said, right? Bounty hunters.. A glance towards the coinpurse he had hefted confirmed inner questions. He would have to figure out a way to pay his way until he could get home. After a moment the gruff voice spoke, rumbling, but far quieter than it normally would. “Aye... I’ll Sign up if it’ll do the things you say for me.”

Baederon smirked slyly, a vagabond’s grin. “That, glory, a name for yerself, all that and more m’ large friend.”

Grinnaux had to bite his tongue to keep from retorting he already HAD a name, and a home, as memories flashed through his mind once more.. Flickering.. Pain. Slumping down against the counter again, he went back to his meal. A few more bites in, and he hissed in pain as a sudden spike drove into his brain, and a vision clouded his eyes. Allagan tech, his brothers at arms, a fight... That..Light.. Warrior?... It was over before he knew, but left him trembling once more. 

“Ye alright fellah?” The hyur’s voice took on a worried tone, though relaxed slightly as the marauder waved his hand. 

“It’s.. been a long night… thats all.” Grinnaux sounded far more reassuring than he himself felt, his violet gaze shifting upwards once more. “Might… I get that room now?”

Baederon frowned a moment, before nodding. “We’ll take care o’tha paperwork when ye get up. Talk t’ Mytesyn. Ole’ sea wolf’ll get ye settled, and we kin talk more business once yer feelin a bit more yerself aye?”

The bull took that moment to stand, without another word, though unsteady upon his feet. The loss of his brothers… this strange land… what had happened? How had he come to be here? At least one thing was a constant.. Barkeeps and their lack of asking too many questions. As long as the coin was good. And now, a way to make the coin. At least hunting work was something he was used to, though he highly doubted they had any blasted dragons this far south.

Once within the confines of his new, temporary abode, he collapsed in a heap against the door, his hands upon the sides of his skull, wincing as another spike of pain struck through. Another flash, the sound of armor crumpling to the ground. That infernal *song* again… What was it about that melody that tore into him so? It called to him even as it tore through his mind like a cancer. 

His friends… his brothers… He remembered their faces… slack jawed and lifeless around him. The final blow… Another shattering pain… His fist slamming against the stone wall beside him brought the bull back to the present, the pain of freshly opened knuckles arresting his mind to the here and now, though hazy. Slowly he began to divest himself of the borrowed armor, leaving the myriad of scars that littered the man's torso visible.. Including the one that had to be from the warrior’s killing blow, before. He wasn’t tired, really, or at least, so he told himself, however he stumbled to the bed, regardless, his steps stuttered, akin to a drunken stumble.

He was unconscious before he had fully hit the pillow.


End file.
